Hum

i empty myself
waiting, listening.
there is nothing there.
nothing, except the hum,
discrete, growing, holding,
swaying, being, raining,
flooding, ebbing, standing.
i sense it as a vibration,
a hum, a single chorused note.
this is it:
this hum is the sound of love.
nature does utter a peep-
just this one.
birds and insects,
meadows and swamps,
rivers and stones,
mountains and clouds:
all whisper it.
there is vibrancy.
i wait, i give my life's
length to listening.
the ice rolls up,
the ice rolls back,
and still the single note obtains.
the tension is intolerable.
the hum of love
is not fantasy-
it is all there is.